This is the beginning of an epic; seventh part.

Meh. Lots o' Will in this chapter. I don't like writing him much. Jack is much more better.

Sorry to keep you waiting, loffs!

But I love your reviews; keep 'em up! They keep me goin'.

Still own nothing.

Who will love a little Sparrow?
Who's traveled far and cries for rest?

"Not I," said the Swan,
"The entire idea is utterly absurd,
I'd be laughed at and scorned if the
other Swans heard."

-Simon and Garfunkel

She wanted to run into his arms. She wanted it to be dramatic, so dramatic.

To distract herself; to forget. To forget the searing pain across her chest. To forget that she was in love with a man who could never love her. To forget that she was to spend the rest of her life with a man who she could never love. Not anymore. Not with the Captain burned into her heart.

She wanted to run into his arms. Sobbing apologies. Pledging love. But she couldn't.

Through the grimy window she could see him in the corner, slumped against the wall. Half-asleep in the high-back chair. Just where she'd left him. Not very surprising; the entire crew was where she'd left them. All asleep. Except for Will.

She felt his eyes on her as she silently slipped into the chalet. As she wound her way towards him, dodging the snoring piles of pirates. As she stood before him, unable to speak.

She stared hard at the bowed floor boards. She couldn't meet his gaze. Not yet. His miserable stare was boring into her, burning through her skin. Burning through her bone. And she still couldn't look him in the eyes.

This was unbelievable. This was unbelievable. Why was it so bloody hard? Why couldn't she explain it? Explain herself. Explain why. Why she'd betrayed him. Why she'd kissed the Captain. Why she'd brought her entire world crumbling down around her.

She wished she could tell him the truth. That she was in love. And not with him.

With Captain Jack Sparrow. That she was in love with Jack. That her heart ached at the thought of him. That she burned with desire for him. That she was drenched in sorrow. Sorrow from knowing that he would never feel the same way. Sorrow that made her want to fall to her knees and cry until there was nothing left.

But she couldn't tell him. She couldn't, because it would make things worse. So much worse. It had to be lies. More lies.

"I'm sorry," she whispered; it was all she could manage.

And it was true. She was sorry. Sorry that she'd ever let Jack Sparrow into her heart. Sorry she'd ever tangled herself in his web of ruthless treachery. Sorry that she'd kissed him. Sorry that he'd broken her heart, without ever even knowing how she felt.

She was sorry that she'd thrown everything she'd had, everything she'd been comfortable with, away. For one kiss. A kiss that had so obviously meant nothing to the one she loved. For one heartbreak. She lifted her gaze after a long moment of silence. He wasn't speaking. She flinched as she met his eyes. They were so sad. So utterly morose. So jaded.

"Why?" He was hissing, his voice dripping with vemon. But tinged with pain. She felt her cheeks flush. He'd never spoken to her like that before; it stung as if he'd slapped her. She took a step towards him, drawing a deep, steadying breath. She felt like melting under his hard gaze.

Her heartbeat was picking up. Her vision was blurring with tears. She didn't want to say it; she didn't want to lie to him. Again. But what choice did she have?

"Because I love you, Will." It sounded so fake. So unreal. Like a bad dream. She prayed that he would hear only truth.

"Do you?" William Turner was sure anymore. He wasn't sure of anything anymore. He'd felt the confusion eating away at him since the Pearl had disappeared into the olive depths. Since Elizabeth had betrayed him; betrayed his love. Since she'd kissed Jack Sparrow.

No, before that. Since the first time he'd seen her look at him that way. The way she used to look at him. He loved her. For years, he'd loved her. And she had loved him, once. He had been dangerous. Risky. An affaire with freedom; so far from what was expected of her. And they had almost been married; had almost been happy. Then everything had come crashing down. She'd betrayed him. She'd kissed that bloody bastard.

He had to admit. He'd felt it coming. He'd felt her pulling away. He'd seen her smile at him. He'd seen the familiar look in her eyes when she thought of him. And it had tugged mercilessly at his heartstrings, but he'd ignored it. He'd bloody ignored it. And he regretted his weakness.

He hated Jack Sparrow. Bloody lying, cheating rat. He hated him for what Elizabeth had done.

William had been happy to see him alive, yes. But for a reason far different from those of his crew. For Elizabeth. As violently as the confusion and despair had plagued him, burned him, it was her misery that hurt him most. Seeing her heart torn into pieces nearly killed him.

He couldn't believe it, but seeing her happy was still important to him. Even after what she'd done. He still loved her. But he wasn't sure what she wanted anymore. She'd loved him. She'd kissed Jack. She loved Jack? He didn't know. He had his suspicions. But he still had his hopes.

Elizabeth gulped. Do I? Of course not. She didn't love him. And she never would again. But she had to try. She had to bloody try. What the hell else was she supposed to do?

"Yes." She was trembling; her voice so low it could barely be heard. "Will, I'm so sorry. I love you. I'm so sorry." She had to press the back of her hand across her lips, to stop herself from repeating those words over and over. There was nothing else to say. Nothing else she could think to say.

He wanted to take her into his arms. He wanted to hold her against him. To tell her everything was alright. But he could see it in her eyes. Doubt. No, not doubt. He felt a twinge of sorrow shoot through him. Not doubt at all. Deception. But did he care? Did he care that she was clearly lying? That she didn't love him?

Did he care? He loved her, and here she was. Asking forgiveness. Swearing love.

He stood suddenly, never taking his eyes from hers. They were so close; he could see the tears shining on her cheeks. It was all so familiar; something that never failed to excite him. To give him a rush of ecstacy. Being near her. Being so near her.

He didn't care.

He kissed her. Gently. Softly.

He didn't care.